


You Don't Have to Pretend

by pidgeotto_gunderson



Series: VLD Season 2 Fix-It's [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Crying, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Insecurity, Lots of it, M/M, Sad Lance (Voltron), Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, also pretty awkward but you can't win every time, but better safe than sorry, fight me on this, i dont know if this could technically be counted as an anxiety attack, i mean its not explicitly stated, its really angsty okay, keith is nice in this because kEITH IS NICE ALRIGHT, like the word 'depression' is not technically used but it's kinda like. there. so, post-Escape From Beta Traz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9445748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgeotto_gunderson/pseuds/pidgeotto_gunderson
Summary: Season 2 Fix-It, making up for the lack of anything REALLY addressing Lance's insecurities





	

He made the shot.

 

Floating in space, from a thousand feet away, under two tons of pressure, _he made the shot._ He saved the mission, saved the prisoner, saved their whole plan.

 

So why does he still feel so _terrible?_

 

Sitting on the observation deck in pajamas and his Lion slippers, Lance stares up at the night sky and wonders if the stars know how important they are.

 

He pulls his knees to his chest and there’s this deep-seated sense of anxiety settled in his bones - the trembling hands, the hitch in his breathing, the flutter in his stomach. The voice in his head is louder than usual, clawing at the walls in his head, the carefully crafted barriers that he’s been struggling to hold up for so, so long.

 

He’s drowning, drowning in the vast expanse of space and in the harsh, suffocating reality of his miserable goddamn existence, and _fuck_ , he wants out.

 

Lance has never really been one for quitting, due mostly to pride, coupled with pure spite, But now, alone with his thoughts, he’s quite honestly had enough.

 

Rocking back and forth, tears prickling in his eyes, he presses his thumb into his hand, digging deep into a day-old gash on his palm. The pain is grounding, in a way that gives him something other than the voice in his head ( _worthless, worthless, worthless_ ) to focus on. A sob racks his body as tears begin to pour down his cheeks, but there’s another voice. It takes a moment for Lance to figure out whether it's real or in his head.

 

“Lance?” He glances over his shoulder, takes one look at Keith, and jerks back around.

 

“H-hey.” Lance tries to keep his voice steady, tries to sound casual. It doesn’t work. He presses harder into his palm. _Go away_ , he thinks, in a vain attempt to project the words at Keith.

 

Keith doesn't, of course, but he doesn't say anything, either. He walks slowly over to Lance and sits cross-legged, leaving a safe distance between them. It's silent, aside from Lance’s muffled sobs. He rubs furiously at his eyes with his sleeve, covers his mouth with his hand, and Keith says quietly, “You don't have to talk. You don't have to tell me what's wrong.”

 

Lance wraps an arm around his legs and has to actually remind himself to _breathe_. Keith continues, “You don’t have to say anything at all to me. But is it okay if I just sit here, with you?”

 

Lance considers this, ends up nodding into his knees. On one hand, he kind of wishes he could just be left alone, but he’s also grateful for the company, in a way. Grateful that Keith isn’t making fun of him or pushing him for an explanation.

 

Or maybe Keith just doesn’t care enough to ask for an explanation. He probably just couldn’t sleep and came to look at the stars or something, and now Lance is bothering him with his crying and his problems. He sucks in a breath and holds it, trying to stem the flow of tears. He can feel Keith’s eyes on him.

 

He looks over at Keith, bleary-eyed and weary. “You know, if you're gonna make fun of me, I’d prefer if you just go ahead and do it.”

 

Keith actually looks surprised. “What?”

 

Lance makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, turns away, and doesn't respond, figuring that maybe if he ignores Keith, he'll go away.

 

“I’m not going to make fun of you, Lance.”

 

That has Lance looking up again, disbelieving. He wonders vaguely if this is just Keith’s way of lulling him into a false sense of security, but he shoves that thought aside and says warily, “Why not?”

 

The sigh Keith gives sounds resigned. And slightly pissed off. “Because, despite you seeming to think I'm a jackass, I'm not actually a horrible person. Having feelings isn't something to be made fun of for.” He shifts, folding his legs under him and angling slightly towards Lance. His expression softens ever so slightly when he sees Lance’s face. “Are you, ah…okay?”

Lance snorts. Loudly. “I’m peachy, dude. Fucking stellar.” Keith gives him a look. “I’m fine, Keith, just…I’m just having my regularly scheduled mental breakdown, no big deal.”

 

Keith huffs, but doesn’t respond for a moment. Lance can see the wheels turning in his head, and he runs a hand through his hair. On any other day, it’d be funny to watch Keith fumble through any form of social interaction, but today is not any of those days.

 

“Well, uh…do you wanna - do you wanna talk about it?” Keith says it slowly, unsurely, like he really doesn’t want to but he’ll do it if he has to.

 

And Lance doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to force anyone into wasting their time on him or -

 

_You don’t deserve this._

 

“No, no, it’s okay.”

 

_You don’t deserve him._

 

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me.”

 

_You don’t deserve any of them._

 

“I’m f-fine, I’m _totally fine_ , I don’t - I don’t need -”

 

His hands are shaking, violently, his walls are collapsing, and he can physically _feel_ something break inside.

 

He’s crying, really, full-on bawling, now, and he can’t speak, can’t get the words out, can’t even breathe properly. His chest hurts and his head hurts and everything hurts, but then there’s a hand on his wrist and everything he’s ever wanted to say comes tumbling out. The air won’t enter his stupid lungs and he’s heaving, hyperventilating, but he’s still talking. He’s started and now he can’t stop.

 

“You shouldn’t h-have to deal with me. Nobody should have to deal with me. I’m a m-mess.” His words are practically tripping over themselves “I d-don’t know how to communicate, I don’t know how to handle f-feelings, I lose it when things get bad, and I can’t even function properly! I feel like I'm stuck on a fucking roller coaster that only does goddamn loop-de-loops and it’s - I -”

 

“I - Lance -”

 

“- I’m such a goddamn screw-up, and I can’t do _anything_ right. You guys all have s-something that makes you special, makes you imp-portant to the team, something you c-contribute, and all I have is shitty jokes and the _ever-so-helpful_ ability to botch plans without even _trying!_ ”

 

Keith doesn’t say anything more, just lets Lance barrel on and on, spilling all the bad thoughts he’s been holding onto for _so fucking long._

 

He’s gesturing wildly and his voice is rising. “I don’t know why Blue chose me because _I_ sure wouldn’t have, and I wonder sometimes if I should just leave or just _die_ so you guys have an excuse to find a new Blue Paladin who can actually do jack-shit and doesn’t act like a fucking moron and nearly get people killed on a freaking daily basis. I can’t -” He hiccups and Keith cuts in.

 

“Lance, wait, just -” He looks sad. And nervous. Keith’s grip on Lance’s wrist tightens; he takes a deep breath and says, “I - just. You can keep going, if you want, but just answer me one thing, right here, right now.”

 

Lance sniffs, pushes the words down for the moment. “What?”

 

“Are you actually thinking about dying? Like really, seriously thinking about it?”

 

He says it in a rush, all at once, and Lance’s first thought is that Keith really doesn’t beat around the bush.

 

His second thought is, _Loaded question, Keith._

 

And his third: _all the damn time._

 

He doesn’t say any of that, though; instead, he gives himself exactly twenty tics to calm down and think, ends up settling on, “Everyone thinks about death, Keith. It’s a fact of _life_.”

 

“That wasn’t the question, Lance,” Keith responds tiredly.

 

“Look, Keith -”

 

“Lance. Please.” Lance blinks at Keith, who stares right back, the look in his eyes somewhere in the realm of pleading. “You don’t have to pretend with me, okay?”

 

Lance knows this, he does, somewhere deep down, but on the surface, he’s still clinging to this sense of opposition between him and Keith. In an ever-changing universe where nothing stays the same for more than three days, he’s trying to hold on to whatever constant thing he can find.

 

Keith is steady.

 

He may be impulsive and volatile and probably insane (and strong and fiery and brilliant and everything Lance is not. He remembers seeing Keith for the first time and just thinking he had pretty eyes. He wishes he could go back to that), but he’s still steady, and Lance hangs onto that like he hangs onto his last shred of sanity, flocking to Keith like a moth to flame.

 

It’s surely unhealthy, but the lines are a bit blurry, and honestly, Lance doesn’t much care.

 

“Yes.”

 

Keith looks confused for a split second, but then he bites his lip and moves his fingers from Lance’s wrist to the top of his hand and says, “I’m sorry I never said anything before.”

 

“You knew?”

 

“I suspected.” Keith gives a rueful smile. “I’ve been there. I know the look.”

 

Lance matches Keith smile with a bitter laugh, still shaky and drained and _tired_ , and asks, “There’s a look now?”

 

Keith nods, shifts just a little toward Lance. “Yep,” he replies, popping the ‘p’. “Tired with a capital ‘T’.”

 

Snorting with actual, albeit sort of hysterical, laughter now, Lance allows himself to lean into Keith, burying his face in Keith’s sleeve. A beat of silence passes, then Keith is saying, quiet and, absurdly, Lance thinks, scared, “I can help you. If you want.”

 

The voice has quieted, slightly. Drowned out by the noise of the boy sitting next to him and watching him with those damned eyes.

 

Lance looks at this boy, this reckless, hot-headed, _beautiful_ boy, and breathes, “ _Thank you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> well here's another spawn of my bitterness, hope you enjoy 
> 
> next up, PROBABLY (don't quote me on this, please), is an add-in for the pool scene, because there is no way Klance got through that whole thing without talking. there's a big space between when the lights go out and when we see them again, halfway up the elevator, so i'm gonna fill it in :)
> 
> kudos, comments, con-crit appreciated. and if anyone wants to request a fix-it, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE hit me up here but know that i'm anti-shaladin and won't write anything with Pidge ships, thank you
> 
> EDIT: please go read Civil Blood by ardett, inspired by this, it's linked below and it's the best thing i've ever had the good fortune to lay eyes on

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Civil Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787081) by [ardett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett)




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